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The dead dream of love in stages

By Joseph E. Green (2012)

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Kinetics The space marked for us can be filled with magic, can be filled with lead, with spoken promises and things undone; a garden, untilled, or – very possibly – dead. Even a pebble can make a circle when thrown from the smallest hand. It still takes a touch to start the soul electric; not this exhaling deity defunct, but an untroubled will, affection set in tension. There were giants in the Earth then (not now). If we are to conquer this where, this when, we must make do with our how. That’s where you come in. The bulk of your every only days, extraordinary in the smallest ways, unsung and unseen. But when it matters we dream in the resonances of each other and for each other, the arc of a directed heart, in unison with another. In the physics of our daily actions the sum total of your interactions knocks me into motion. A lifelong admiration following – very naturally – one unbecoming love.

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A.N. Everything spins – The Earth with its axis of rotation, Galaxies in hurricane formation; Whorls in a conch shell, Quantum motion spherical. The whole universe a dance. Is it small to think only of you? Should it be infinite, This chain of chance? No. It feels like you are the universe (And therefore the dance.) Others have been here, Patterns repeated, Some loves lost and passions defeated. But you are more gorgeous than recall, More graceful than forget, Your face etched in time; Tender, arresting, and unceasingly kind. (They can have their damn universes; You are mine.) Say the words and touch my hand, Shape my heart and draw it in. It orbits around you. Everything spins.

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An Argument My unprincipled heart Dreams only of you; It fixates without reason As an undissauded child. I spoke to it of my success by way of distraction. It tuned out, forsaking concentration, Throws all away unheeding And demands amputation. It beats only to be handed to you, Or demands to beat not. Besotted. I explain, she’s always on the move. Even were she so inclined, She (most logically) declines attachment. You should (logically) resign. My heart responds as Yawheh to Job, With no uncertain arrogance; Where were you when I fell in love? Where were you when this push ensued? Do you remember when I seeped into your brain, Gave order to dream’s chaos, this Evocation of her gentle touch? How many times did you kiss her fantastic, Held fast in stasis, Clutching air, Unable to tremble so suffused with her? A life dedicated to the joy of Knowing Now knows this: Your life’s purpose unfurled, In that soul unsoiled Uncoiled and forever new, You might well ask the oceans Not to be blue. What incidents remain, To this cause be true. Again I reason: If this is how it is what’s the point?

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Should I deny myself affection, The grip of other hearts’ election, For this unresponsive love? Yes. It’s how it’s always been. Once you’re in, you’re in. So my fate is to choose to be hurt? And now my heart is finally mad. There is no choice but selection – There is no good but sensation. Could you unlove the sunrise? Could you feel without need? Go build her a canyon, Or write her a scene. It’s all for her now, Or else cease to be. All right, I say to my obstinate heart, I’ll absorb this attraction, Embrace dissatisfaction, But you must do something for me. Always wish her pure magic, Always wish her be free. I’ll lead my life in shadow Waiting for her word, Bouncing off electric and Hiding between atoms. Someday, perhaps, in some universe, (please) She'll look to me.

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All poems by Joseph E. Green. All rights reserved. “Kinetics,” June 2012. “A.N.,” October 2012. “An Argument,” November 19, 2012.

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